


Remembrance

by wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kidnapped!Sam, M/M, Roleplay, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their house burned down, John, Dean, and Sammy Winchester went on the run. Two years later, little Sammy was kidnapped. Dean's certain that his little brother is dead-- he saw all the blood-- but John thinks differently. It's not until Dean meets Sam Wesson, pre-law student at Stanford University, that he finds out John was right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the result of my second RP with impalagirl. Go send her her love; she keeps insisting that all of her replies are complete shit.

Dean growled and muttered to himself as he worked under the '69 Dodge Charger. He'd moved to Palo Alto, California, to finally get away from the hunting life. Things with his father, John Winchester, had just become way too tense for him, and he wanted out. He still laid down protections every night, and every night he still dreamed of the little brother he'd lost so many years ago.

After the fire that had destroyed their old home and killed their mother, John Winchester had taken 4 year old Dean and 6 month old Sammy on the road, hunting for answers. Two years later, when Dean was six, they'd been staying in Chicago when two men had broken into the motel room they were staying in while their father was out on a hunt. Dean had been knocked unconscious, and didn't remember much of anything, except that when he'd woken up, Sammy was gone. That had been the final straw for John Winchester, and he'd kept Dean with him, obsessing over his only remaining family member's safety. Dean knew how to read and figure with the best of them, but he also knew every way to kill almost any monster he came across, could hot wire any car, pick locks, and all the other unorthodox skills that hunters usually required. None of them helped keep the nightmares away.

He'd finally broken things off with his father, unable to deal with the man's growing obsession with the missing Sammy. Dean figured the kid was long dead now. They'd never found anything. No hints, no hints of hints, nothing. So Dean had decided that he was going to live his own life.

 

Sam drove up to the mechanic's with some trepidation, and parked his crappy car outside. It was a pretty banged up '67 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, blue, and in the two years he'd owned it, he had yet to take it for so much as an oil check. He had no choice now though - the thing was barely roadworthy and he could not afford a new one. Getting a full ride to Stanford did not mean he had money to spare. Quite the contrary, actually. Sam sighed and got out of his car.  
  
"Um, hello?" he called, picking his way around the other cars, some of which looked worse off than his own, and looking for any sign of life. He found none, until he tripped over a pair of legs that were protruding from beneath what looked like a Dodge Charger. Sam knew nothing about cars. "Oh shit!" he cried, barely managing to keep himself from landing face-first on the ground. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!"

 

"Jesus Christ!" Dean spat, rolling out from under the car, rubbing his forehead where he'd smashed it into the undercarriage. He glared at the guy-- and holy hell did this guy have miles of leg-- and demanded angrily, "What, do you never look at your feet?" Muttering under his breath, Dean stood up, rubbing his forehead and moving to look in the window. "Shit," he said, tilting his head. "That's gonna leave one hell of a bruise." Looking back over at the guy, he held out his hand. "Dean Winchester," he said, introducing himself. Glancing over at the new car, he promptly ignored the guy and walked over, his jaw dragging in the dirt. "What the hell have you done to this car?" he demanded.  
  
There were scratches covering almost every inch of the paint, the back windshield was cracked, and Dean could smell the overused oil. He stared in horror at the supposed-to-be-beautiful '67 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. He'd never seen any car in this horrible of a condition.

 

Sam followed Dean over to his car, his expression more than a little sheepish. He knew that it was a mess, but the guy was acting like it was a personal insult to him, and maybe it was. He was the mechanic, after all. "Uhh," Sam began nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "It was like that when I got it? Mostly, anyway. It was driveable. But now it kind of isn't. And it makes this, like, clanging sound... I don't know." He laughed, high and nervous, feeling vaguely like he was about to get strung up by this guy. "I'm Sam, by the way," he offered. Maybe if he established himself as human in Dean's eyes, his death wouldn't be quite so painful.

 

"Well," Dean said, laughing dryly, "at least you didn't do all this yourself." Shaking his head, Dean turned back to Sam. "What's your last name, kid?" he asked, walking around and back over to the Charger so he could finish up what he'd been working on. "And what, exactly, do you want me to do to the old queen over there?"

 

"Wesson," Sam answered a little belatedly, because holy shit, Dean's laugh was incredible. He followed Dean back to the other car, hovering uncertainly as he disappeared beneath it again. "Uh, I don't know, really. I have no idea when it comes to cars. I just want to be able to drive it without feeling like it's gonna fall apart."

 

Dean continued working as he spoke. "Well, then I'll have to do a full tune up, oil change, and if you want I can replace that backglass. That crack's in a spot that's gonna be very annoying, not to mention if you-- dammit, you piece of shit!-- sorry, if you hit a pothole, or any big enough bump, that crack'll spread." Grumbling to himself, and after banging around for a few more moments, Dean finally emerged from under the Charger. "It'll probably cost you a decent bit, but it would cost more if you got ticketed." Wandering back over to Sam's car, Dean started making mental notes. "You got a ride back to your place?" he asked, turning back to Sam. "I'll need to keep her overnight. You can pick her up tomorrow afternoon."

 

"I'll be able to afford it," Sam promised. "Just do whatever you need to do." Even as he said it, he winced. It looked like he wasn't going to be eating for the next few weeks. "I was just going to walk back. I'll come back tomorrow just after four? I'm in class until then, so I can't come earlier."

 

Dean glanced over at Sam, eyeing him assessingly. "I've got a bit of spare time before the owner comes back for that bitch," he said, nodding towards the Charger. "I'll take you back to your dorm or apartment or wherever you live." He snagged the keys to his '67 Chevrolet Impala from their ring and started walking towards her. "C'mon; I'll take you back. You can get a friend or someone to bring you back tomorrow."

 

The last thing Sam expected was to be offered a ride, so it took him a moment to realise he was supposed to be moving and he hurried to catch up with Dean. "Holy shit, is this your car?" he asked as he slid into the passenger seat of the Chevy. "It's gorgeous." Sam didn't know a thing about cars, but he could appreciate beauty when he saw it.

 

Dean grinned as he slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition. "This is Baby; she was my dad's." Dean was quiet for a second but hastily said, "Glad you like her. She loves attention, don't you, doll?" He laughed and patted the dashboard before reversing and then pulling out of the parking lot. "So where do you live?" Dean asked.

 

Sam gave Dean directions to the apartment he shared with his friend Jess and then settled back in his seat. The car smelled like leather and metal, and it was oddly comforting. "Are all cars girls?" he asked, tone light and teasing. He liked Dean; he seemed like a nice guy.

 

"Yeah, kinda like ships. You never hear anyone call a ship 'he.' Cars are kinda the same." It only took a few minutes for Dean to drive to Sam's apartment. "Here you go," he said, putting the Impala in park. "Wait, here, let me give you my number, so you can call me if you need another ride or anything."

 

"Oh, sure. Thanks." Sam programmed Dean's number into his phone and got out of the car after thanking him once more. He gave a little wave as Dean drove off and then turned to let himself into his building. For some strange reason, he was really looking forward to picking up his car tomorrow.

 

Dean smiled to himself. He liked this kid. The only thing he didn't like was that Sam had the same name as Sammy, and almost the same eyes... shaking his head, Dean firmly ordered himself to not think about that.

 

Luckily, Dean was able to get a backglass from one of his friends who replaced auto glass for a living. He installed it himself, changed the oil, fixed the faulty transmission, blew out the engine, cleaned up under the hood, and touched up the paint. It took him the rest of the evening and most of the next morning, but finally he was done. Dean grinned, wiping at his face, accidentally leaving a smudge of oil across his forehead. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was a little after four. Sam should be showing up any time now.

 

It was closer to five than four when Jess dropped Sam off to pick up his car and she blew him a kiss as she drove away. The bitch had taken forever to get ready after class and had complained that she was going to be late for her drama group even though the mechanic's was on the way to the hall they met in. Sam shook his head affectionately. She was nuts.  
  
He found Dean in the tiny office he hadn't ventured near yesterday and smiled apologetically at him as he pushed open the door. "Hey! Sorry I didn't get here earlier, my ride had to make me suffer for putting her out. Did you manage to fix my car?"

 

Dean laughed as he turned to face Sam. "I'm guessing your ride's your girlfriend?" he asked, a slight grin on his face. Dean pushed aside the small sting of disappointment, only vaguely wondering about it as he continued, "Yeah, I fixed her up." He named the price.

 

"Nah," Sam dismissed easily as he reached for his wallet. He was used to people assuming that he and Jess were together but honestly, they'd tried it a few years ago and it just wasn't for them. "Just my roommate. Here." He was admittedly a little reluctant to part ways with the cash - he wouldn't be eating for a month, apparently - but it was necessary and he could always pick up some extra shifts at the little coffee shop on campus. "Thanks for fixing her-- it." Sam grinned. "That's contagious. But anyway, thank you. You saved my life, and my legs."

 

Dean laughed. "Roommate, huh?" he asked, grinning. Glancing at the clock, an idea struck. "If you've got some free time, we could head down the street, maybe grab some dinner. There's this nice little diner that serves a mean burger." He held his breath, surprised at himself. He barely knew the guy, and he was asking him out to dinner?

 

Sam blinked. Had Dean just asked him out? He felt his face flush even as he told himself that no, just one look at Dean made it clear that he was straight. Very straight. It was just a friendly invitation. One that he really wanted to accept. "Um, I don't..." Sam stuttered, feeling increasingly awkward. "You're kind of... holding all of my money in your hand. Maybe, raincheck?"

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "All of your money?" he repeated. "Well, thanks for making me feel like a jerk," he said, shaking his head. "I'll pay, deal?" He paused for a moment. "C'mon, don't make me eat by myself," he wheedled when Sam didn't reply.

 

Sam felt bad. He hadn't meant to guilt Dean into offering to pay - he'd just been being honest. After regarding Dean for a moment, he nodded. "I'll eat with you," he agreed carefully, "but I didn't mean to make you feel like a jerk. I'll pay you back, okay?"

 

Dean waved the offer off, sliding his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Dude, I'm asking you out. So you're not allowed to pay me back." Before Sam could launch any further protests, Dean steered him out the door and to the street, leading the way to the diner.

 

Okay, now Sam was really confused. Dean was asking him out? He didn't know, but he felt tense and awkward on the walk to the diner - or, at least, most of the walk. Dean's scent, very similar to that of his car, was warm and comforting and all around him, and by the time Dean was pulling the door to the diner open Sam was loose and pliant under his arm. He matched Dean's order without even thinking about it and watched him over the table while he sipped his coke and waited for their food to arrive. "Is this a date?" he asked abruptly after a moment's silence and then cringed. Way to make it weird, Sam.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Do you want it to be?" he countered. The waitress came back with their food, and he grinned in thanks before digging in. He studied Sam as he waited for an answer. Sam appeared to be about 22-23, four years younger than Dean's 27. Something twisted inside him at the reminder that Sam was the same age as Sammy would be, but he ruthlessly throttled it.

 

Sam used the waitress bringing their food as an excuse to stall, but she left too quickly and he still didn't have an answer. He laughed nervously and tried pushing the question back onto Dean. "You're the one who asked me to have dinner with you," he argued reasonably, offering Dean a shy smile. "It's not up to me to decide your intentions."

 

"No, it's not," Dean agreed amiably. "Honestly? If you want this to be a date, I'd be happy with that. If not, then hey, you get a free meal." He smiled at Sam before taking a bite of his burger, feeling slightly nervous.

 

Sam took a second to consider, and found himself staring at the way Dean's throat worked as he swallowed. Fuck. He guessed he had his answer. "I want it to be a date," he said softly, smile widening into a grin.

 

Dean smiled. "Then it's a date," he said, chuckling slightly. "Now, was that so hard?" he teased. He and Sam ate in silence for a few moments before he asked, "So, Sam, what are you in school for? You're in Stanford, I'm guessing?"

 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm a law student," he answered, chewing on a fry. "What about you? Did you always want to be a mechanic?"

 

Dean shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "I never thought about it, really," he said finally. "My dad was a mechanic, before... before Mom died. After that, we moved around a lot, took on the odd jobs that no one else co--would-- do." Dean took a sip of his soda. "Dad raised me to do those odd jobs, but I've always been good with cars."

 

Sam raised an eyebrow. He wanted to know what those 'odd jobs' were, but Dean clearly didn't want to talk about it. Maybe his dad was in the drug business, or the Mafia. "You're weird," was all he said, chuckling as he reached for his coke.

 

"You have no idea," Dean muttered under his breath with a humorless chuckle. They talked about other, safer topics for the rest of the meal, and then when they were walking back to Dean's shop, he said, "You know, I never got your number."

 

"Oh, of course." Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean's number, letting it ring long enough for the call to go through before hanging up. "All yours. Now if I get too nervous to call you later, you have no excuse for not setting up a repeat performance." He grinned. "'Cause I think I'd like to do this again."

 

Dean laughed. "That was gonna be my next question, actually," he chuckled. "Whether or not you'd like to do this again." He smiled, and wondered at the stirring in his gut that wasn't guilt or disappointment or sadness, but rather... Well, it wasn't exactly lust, either. "I'd like to do this again." He thought for a moment, then smiled. "You know, I've got some free time day after tomorrow, if you'd like to go catch a movie or something."

 

"So soon?" Sam asked, smirking. "How desperate do you think I am?" But he was laughing, and he really liked Dean, so he nodded. "I'm game. You can pick me up; I'm sure you don't want to be seen dead associating with my car."

 

Dean laughed. "Well, she certainly looks better now," he admitted. "But still not the kind of car I can go near without developing a nervous twitch for wanting to completely fix it. I've got a thing for classics." He and Sam set up a time, and then Sam got into his car and headed home. After he'd left, Dean's phone went off. He pulled it out, then frowned at the number. "Hello?" he said, hoping that this wasn't who he thought it was.  
  
"Dean. It's me," Bobby said. "Got a job for you a few towns away from your new place."  
  
Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Bobby, I said I was done hunting," he said firmly. "I left the life, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, but I don't have anyone else close enough. Dean, it's a bunch of demons, and they're working together, torturing people, it looks like. Now tell me straight that you can stand by and let that happen." Bobby was quiet, but the quietness was almost smug. He knew Dean wouldn't be able to do that.  
  
And Dean knew it, too.  "Fine," he growled. "Gimme the details."

 

The next two days dragged like hell for Sam, but at last his date with Dean was fast approaching. They'd agreed that Dean would pick him up shortly after class, which meant that once he got home Sam had half an hour to shower and dress and be ready to leave. His hair was still damp, curling around his ears, when the Impala pulled up outside, and Sam shouted a hasty goodbye to Jess and ran outside before she could grill him for more details or, worse still, demand to meet his mystery guy.  
  
"Hey," he greeted as he slid into the car, turning to grin at Dean. His smile faltered a little though as he took in his appearance. Dean had a rather nasty-looking cut beneath his right eye. "Holy shit, what happened?"

 

The hunt had been simple; the demons weren't exactly hiding. What hadn't been so simple was killing them all, because holy shit there were a lot. He'd gotten a lot worse than a few scratches, but the one below his eye was the only one that was visible at the moment.  
  
"I had a Looney Tunes moment; stepped on the rake over at a friend's place, and it had a bit of wood sticking out that got me right below the eye," he fibbed. He had a really good poker face, so he was confident that Sam wouldn't be able to tell the difference. It wouldn't have mattered either way, but Dean would prefer to postpone the inevitable "monsters are real and I hunt them" discussion.

 

Sam considered this for a moment and then smiled. "Spaz," he said affectionately, and let the subject drop. "So what movie are we going to see? I have cash this time, just for the record." He'd called in some money that Jess owed him, and she hadn't been too happy about it but what was he supposed to do? He was poor, and Dean was hot.

 

Dean smiled, relieved that Sam wasn't going to push it. He needed to remember to be a lot more careful; Sam was a smart kid. He'd notice if Dean had a new cut or injury every time they met. "Hmm.. How about The Legend of Zorro?" he suggested. "Seems like a good movie; who doesn't like a guy with a sword?"

 

Sam hummed in appreciation. "True; a guy with a big sword usually means a lot of fun is to be had." He snorted, and went slightly pink. "I mean, The Legend of Zorro sounds good."

 

Dean snickered. "The more time I spend with you, the more I like you," he said, still chuckling. He drove them to the theater and insisted on paying for the tickets, but let Sam pay for the popcorn and drink. When they were in the theater, they chatted quietly, just catching up, until the movie actually started. About halfway through, Dean slipped his arm around Sam's shoulders, not even bothering trying to be subtle about it.

 

Sam would have laughed at Dean's ridiculously obvious move, but he kind of liked it. It gave him an excuse to press closer, regardless of the armrest between them, and when the lights came on at the end of the movie they revealed that Sam had somehow ended up with his head on Dean's shoulder. Could he help it if Dean smelled so good?  
  
They were laughing when they got out of the theatre, and Sam thought it was way too soon to be holding hands but he kept close enough that their arms brushed occasionally as they walked. "So," he began as they headed toward Dean's Impala. "What did you think of the movie?" Sam hadn't actually paid a whole lot of attention to it, too distracted by Dean's proximity, but it seemed like the right thing to ask.

 

"I think I could totally kick Zorro's ass," Dean said, laughing. "I mean, come on! The least they could have done was prepare the actor to fight with a sword properly. Even I know how to handle a sword better." They climbed back into the Impala, and Dean started her up, heading back for Sam's apartment. "So, did Jessica ask why you were going out tonight?" he asked conversationally.

 

Sam nodded thoughtfully, a little smile forming on his lips. "Yeah. I didn't tell her much, just that I had a date with this super hot guy - but then you showed up so I decided to ditch him. You have a nicer car." He laughed, and then hesitated a moment before continuing. "You know, she has a meeting with her drama group tonight. She'll be gone for another hour or so, if you want to come in?"

 

Dean hesitated at the offer before accepting. "But just so you know," he said teasingly, "I don't go beyond kissing before the third date." When he pulled up, he put the Impala in park and let Sam lead the way up to the apartment.

 

Sam's eyes glinted. "You'd better make sure there's a third date, then." Once he let them into his apartment, small but homey and actually tidy for once, he felt himself relaxing. Something about Dean had him constantly on edge around him, but Sam controlled the environment here, and there was no need to be uneasy in his own home. "Make yourself comfortable," he said as he shrugged out of his jacket and kicked his sneakers off. "Do you want a beer?"

 

"A beer sounds great," Dean said, walking through the small apartment. It actually felt like a home, like someone lived here. His apartment above the shop still didn't feel that way. He supposed it was because he hadn't had a real home, just the Impala and countless motel rooms, since the fire that killed his mother and scarred Sammy.

 

Eventually Dean came back to the living room and settled down on the couch, taking the beer Sam offered him with a thank-you grin. "So," he said after cracking it open and taking a sip, "where are you from?"

 

"Um, not far from here actually. My parents were from Chicago originally but they'd always wanted to live in California so they moved before I was born." Despite the fact that there was a perfectly good armchair in the room, Sam had chosen to sit beside Dean on the couch, and their knees brushed as he shifted slightly. "What about you? You said you used to travel around a lot but you have to be from somewhere, right?"

 

"Yeah." Dean shrugged as he continued, "Lawrence, Kansas. Lived there with my parents. Then Sammy came along, and when he was six months old, our house burned down, killing Mom. Dad... He kinda went off the rails."

 

Sam's eyes widened. Jesus, Dean definitely hadn't had it easy. He felt incredibly sad all of a sudden; no one deserved a life like that. "I'm sorry," he murmured softly, not sure what else he was supposed to say. "Where are your dad and Sammy now?"

 

"I left Dad behind a few months ago. Sammy... he was kidnapped." Dean took another sip of beer, wondering why the hell he was telling Sam all this. Did he _want_ to scare the kid off? "He was only about two and a half."

 

"Shit," Sam hissed before he could stop himself. He flushed, feeling oddly guilty. How awful must it be for Dean to be talking to him, when he had the same name as the brother he'd lost? "That's awful. I lost both of my parents a couple years ago, but still... I can't imagine." At least he'd grown up knowing his parents, in a safe and stable home. Dean's childhood sounded anything but safe or stable.

 

Dean shrugged. "After that, we just moved around the country. We never really had a house or anything; just the Impala and crappy motel rooms. Then a few months back, Dad... He finally took the deep dive. Got too obsessed with trying to find Sammy." Dean closed his eyes, trying to shut his mouth, but he couldn't, not now that he'd gotten started. "I told him it was hopeless; I was there when Sammy was taken. Two guys came in, knocked me out, took him, and left. When I woke up, the blood... There was too much for a two year old to survive losing."

 

Sam felt sick. Dean sounded so certain that his brother was dead, and he wasn't sure which was better - knowing or not having a clue. He didn't think he could possibly say anything adequate in response to this new information, so he reached out and covered Dean's hand with his own. The things Dean was describing had happened years ago, but they clearly still affected him, and Sam found himself wishing that he could help somehow.

 

Dean took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to tell you all that." He took another swig of his beer, and then laughed humorlessly. "I'm pretty fucked up, I know. I'll understand if you don't want to see me."

 

"What?" Sam blinked, taken aback. Dean had an awful past but why would that make Sam not want to see him? "You're not fucked up. A lot of terrible things have happened to you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to suddenly lose interest. And you can tell me anything you want," he added, flushing slightly.

 

Dean chuckled dryly. No, he couldn't tell Sam anything. Not about what he'd done before moving to Palo Alto. "That story I just told you would've made most people head screaming for the hills," he told Sam, grinning slightly. "So I wonder why you didn't." He smiled at Sam and raised his beer bottle in a slight salute before taking another swallow.

 

Sam shrugged, feeling awkward, and followed Dean's example. He didn't understand why Dean thought he would run; none of the things that had happened had been his fault. "Maybe you just haven't met any decent people," Sam suggested as he set his beer down on the little coffee table, offering a shy smile in return. 

 

Dean thought about it for a second. "Knowing the people Dad and I met, that's probably true," he admitted. It felt nice, sitting here next to Sam, sharing some beer and talking, even if the topics they were discussing weren't his first choice of topics.

 

Sam wanted to ask what kind of people, exactly, Dean's dad used to make him talk to, but he got the feeling that it wouldn't be smart to push too hard too soon. Dean had already told him so much, and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Sam smiled and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Well I can't speak for anyone else, but you can't chase me away that easily," he promised, chuckling.

 

"Good," Dean said. He heard the door open, and he looked over the back of the couch, raising an eyebrow at the blonde coming through the door. "Hey," he said, lifting a hand in greeting. "You must be Jess."

 

Jess looked the guy sitting next to her roommate on the couch. He was a little shorter than Sam, with really short hair. "Hi. You must be Sam's mystery guy," she retorted, moving into the kitchen and dumping her bag on the table. "Practice cut short today, Sam. Aw, Jesus, did you get the last two beers?"

 

"Yeah, sorry," Sam called through to the kitchen, offering Dean an apologetic look. Jess could be a little weird the first time you met her. He smiled when she came back into the room, even though she looked pissed. "There might be a bottle of something under the sink. This is Dean, by the way. He fixed my car."

 

Jess threw herself in the armchair, sprawling over it sideways. "Yeah, yeah. So what's so damned special about you? I mean, Sam only met you a few days ago, and now he's gone on two dates with you?" She eyed Dean challengingly.

 

Dean kept his gaze level on Jess's. "Nothing's special about me," he said simply. "I asked, he accepted."

 

Okay, the guy's gaze was starting to weird Jess out a bit. It was like... Normally Jess didn't do the whole "mystical, poetic" crap, but it was like his gaze was centuries old in a twenty-some-year-old's body. "And what made you ask?" she questioned, still unsettled by the quiet intensity of Dean's gaze.

 

Dean could see that Jess was feeling uncomfortable, but he didn't do anything to alleviate the situation. "I like him."

 

Sam looked between his roommate and his date, sensing the tension between them but unsure of how to ease it. He grinned wide when Dean spoke, though, and nudged their knees together. "I like him, too," he told Jess, but he was looking at Dean.

 

Jess shifted her gaze from Dean's oddly intent one to Sam, noting the way he was looking at Dean. She hadn't seen Sam look at anyone, guy or girl, in that way since... since forever. Her expression softened, and she sighed. "Fine, fine. I guess he passes, for now. I reserve the right to kick your ass if you break his heart, though," she added, scowling at Dean.

 

Dean laughed. "Good luck with that, sister," he snickered. Glancing at the clock, he swore. "I gotta get going; got a couple more cars coming in tomorrow fairly early." He finished his beer and gave Sam a one-armed hug. "I'll call or text you later, Sam," he said, waving slightly as he walked back out, depositing his beer bottle in the trash can on his way out.

 

They didn't see each other again for the next few weeks, Sam really busy with college and Dean with work, which is why it was a pleasant surprise to find the Impala waiting for him when Sam got out of class one afternoon. Abandoning his own car, Sam slid into the passenger seat of Dean's with a grin and a kind of breathless 'hi'. "Jess was sure you weren't coming back," he said as they drove away from campus. "Thank you for proving her wrong. Where are we going, anyway?"

 

"I figured we'd just go drive around, maybe head out to the country," Dean said, grinning. He'd missed Sam; the few texts they'd managed to exchange in between their busy schedules just weren't the same as actually seeing the kid. Dean felt slightly guilty that the garage wasn't taking up as much of his free time as he implied; Bobby still insisted on calling with local jobs. "I know this great little meadow, perfect for just killing time." He drove too fast, showing off a bit, but Baby could handle it; she'd handled far worse.

 

Sam tended to be a generally safe driver on the whole, but the speed at which they were going was kind of exhilarating. It wasn't the only thing, either. "That sounds great," he answered, because it did. The meadow Dean was describing sounded perfect not only for killing time, but for being alone. Dean had teased the last time they saw each other that he didn't do anything beyond kissing before the third date; this _was_ their third date, and they still hadn't so much as hugged. If Dean didn't kiss him soon, Sam was sure to explode.

 

Dean grinned; Sam's excitement and expectation was almost palpable. "Keep your pants on, buster," Dean laughed. "We'll get there soon enough." He rolled the Impala's windows down, loving the feel of the air roaring through the windows and the rest of the car.

 

Finally they arrived at the meadow, and Dean pulled the Impala about halfway through the meadow and put her in park, killing the engine. He got out and went around to the trunk, pulling out a case of beer and a box filled with some food he'd picked up on his way over to grab Sam. He shut the trunk before Sam could spot the false bottom, and moved around to sit on the hood, laying the beer and food out at the top of the hood, by the windshield. Sitting on the hood, he gestured Sam over. "Figured I should bring some food and drinks since I don't plan on leaving this meadow any time soon."

 

Sam beamed, bright and happy, as he joined Dean on the hood of the car. "This place is beautiful," he murmured, looking out over the expanse of the meadow before turning to help himself to a beer. Their fingers brushed as he handed one to Dean, and Sam's smile turned a little shy as he peered over at him. "It's all very romantic."

 

Dean smiled as he took the beer. "You know," he said, leaning back slightly as he opened his beer, "I've never wanted to do romantic before. I've never really had a relationship before. Physical relationship, sure. But a real relationship, where you take the time to get to know someone? I've never had that. Never wanted it before, because I never knew how long I was going to be in any place." He took a swig of his beer and glanced back over at Sam before looking up to the sky, watching a cloud go by. "But with you... You're different. I don't want the rushed, gotta-get-physical thing with you. Something tells me you deserve better than that." He flushed slightly at his words. What on earth had gotten into him?

 

Sam flushed right along with Dean and he took a long pull from his beer to keep himself from saying something stupid. As he swallowed he looked down at the bottle in his hand, peeling the label back carefully. It was a nervous habit. "I don't know about deserving anything," he responded after a few moments, lips quirking up a bit at the corner, "but that all sounds kinda nice." And now he sounded like a thirteen year old girl. Great.

 

Dean smiled, and they sat there, drinking their beers, in silence for a moment before Dean suddenly huffed out a laugh and flopped over sideways, his head landing in Sam's lap. "Jesus, listen to us," he chuckled, looking up at Sam, the corners of his eyes crinkled on a laugh. "Talking about our feelings, we're a regular pair of girls." He grinned up at Sam.

 

Sam's fingers automatically found Dean's hair, winding into the short strands to rub circles into his scalp. Weird, inappropriate even, but once he'd started he couldn't bring himself to stop without specific instruction. "You're the one who started it," he teased, smiling down into Dean's face. "With all your talk of wooing me or whatever."

 

"Wooing you?" Dean turned the phrase over thoughtfully in his mind. "Not the phrase I would have used, but I suppose it's accurate. All I know is that I want this to actually mean something." He had to stop himself from purring at the feeling of Sam's fingers massaging his scalp. It felt absolutely wonderful, and that was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

 

“It will mean something," Sam said confidently, as though the idea that he would enter into something like this on the understanding that it wouldn't go anywhere was ludicrous. "It does. I keep saying it, but I really like you, Dean. I don't want this to just be some fling."

 

"Good; me, either," Dean replied. They didn't talk for a while, just drinking their beers and looking around at the scenery, and Dean thought that he'd honestly never thought he'd meet a guy he could term "gorgeous," but now that he'd seen Sam, "gorgeous" seemed just the right adjective to describe him. Dean found his gaze wandering from Sam's hair to his eyes, then cheeks, finally coming to rest on his mouth. Watching Sam take a pull from his bottle of beer, Dean unconsciously licked his lips.

 

The movement drew Sam's attention and he looked down at Dean, fingers momentarily stilling their movements in his hair. He smiled when he realised where Dean's gaze was resting and let his own eyes drop to look at Dean's plump - now moist, Jesus - lips before looking away, cheeks heating slightly. This whole thing was like a game of chicken, or maybe cat and mouse, but it was kind of exciting all the same. 

 

A wicked grin spread across Dean's lips when he saw Sam's gaze dart away, and he decided that now would be a perfect time to take things to the next level. He leaned up, bracing himself on one hand while the other snaked around the back of Sam's head, pulling it down so Dean could capture Sam's lips in a soft kiss.

 

Sam made a sound of surprise but he quickly melted into the kiss, moving his lips slow and tender against Dean's. It was perfect, and well worth the wait; when they broke apart Sam smiled at Dean but it was different somehow - softer than usual, and quietly pleased. Before he could even consider his next move, he was leaning down for another kiss, hand cupping Dean's cheek now. It was clear to Sam already that he could fast become addicted to Dean's kisses.

Dean made a pleased sound in the back of his throat when Sam kissed him, and he slowly deepened the kiss, gently licking across the seam of Sam's lips, then into Sam's mouth when he parted his lips.

After a few moments he pulled back, slightly breathless. He smiled at Sam, chuckling softly. "That was pretty good," he admitted softly, one hand carding through Sam's hair.

"Only pretty good," Sam teased, cheeks slightly pink. He leaned into Dean's hand like a cat and grinned. "The hood of a car isn't exactly an ideal spot for making out though. We might need some practice."

 

Dean laughed and was about to reply when his phone rang. Rolling his eyes, he flipped it open without looking at the screen. "Hello?" he asked, smiling at Sam apologetically.

 

"Dean."

 

Dean's smile slid off of his face quicker than a thought. "Bobby," he said, his voice flat as he sat up straighter. "Picked a hell of a time."

 

"Shut it, princess. Got a job for you." Bobby's voice sounded slightly harried, and Dean slid off the hood of the Impala, pacing away several feet as he replied.

 

"Bobby, I told you, I'm done," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I quit, remember? Got a regular job as a mechanic."

 

"You and your father--"

 

"Damn my father!" Dean exploded. "What the hell did the bastard ever do for me, except drag me all over the country, hunting down dead-end clues to Sammy and kill--" Remembering that Sam was there, Dean took a deep breath. "Look, I'm done. Sammy's dead, Bobby, and I'm done hunting."

 

"I got a nest of vamps only two towns away from you. You want to take the risk that they'll migrate, that they'll kill more people?" Bobby's voice was irritated, grating on Dean's nerves.

 

Lowering his voice, Dean replied, "Vamps kill people, Bobby. It's what they do, how they feed."

 

"And when did you ever let a bloodsucker live long enough to slip past you?" Bobby retorted.

 

Sam felt suddenly awkward, sitting on Dean's car while he argued with someone called Bobby about his dad and his brother and the life he'd led before coming here. When Dean finished on the phone and walked back over, looking kind of apologetic, Sam felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle unpleasantly. "Is everything okay?" he asked, biting his lip.

 

"Yeah," Dean muttered, sitting back on the car. "Just got a job to do tomorrow." His gut twisted at the thought that he was working out the details to a hunt while he was supposed to be on a date with Sam. Hadn't he been the one saying Sam deserved better? He swallowed, his throat clicking dryly, and he said, "Look, let's not talk about it, okay? I don't have to leave till tomorrow." _Tonight_ , he amended silently.

 

Sam wanted to ask what kind of job it was that meant Dean had to leave; he wanted to ask how long Dean would be gone for - but he let it drop. Instead he smiled and bumped Dean's shoulder with his own. "Sure, we can talk about whatever you want."

 

Dean grinned gratefully at Sam. They passed the rest of their time in the meadow alternately talking and kissing, just spending time with each other. As the sun set, Dean started packing everything up. "C'mon," he said, smiling over his shoulder at Sam. "Let's get you back to your apartment."

 

Sam nodded and helped Dean with the rest of the stuff before getting into the car. He wasn't ready for their date to end, especially if Dean was leaving tomorrow. "Do you want to come in again?" he asked as they drove away from the meadow. "I swear Jess won't be there tonight."

 

Dean laughed and leaned over to ruffle Sam's hair affectionately. "Did you completely miss the part about me saying you deserved something better?" he teased. Leaning over to kiss Sam quickly, he added, "I'd love to, but I need to get home and get stuff ready for my trip tomorrow. I gotta leave pretty early." He kissed Sam again, this time the kiss tinted with a hint of regret.

 

Sam flushed, but returned each kiss readily. "I didn't mean that we should do anything... I just got the impression last time that you didn't like her," he explained awkwardly. He didn't want to just ignore the fact that Dean wanted to take things slow; he just wanted to spend more time with him. "But okay. I guess I can't argue with that. Will you be gone long?"

 

"I'm still reserving judgment on her," Dean told Sam, a slight smile on his lips. "And I _shouldn’t_ be gone more than tomorrow, maybe day after tomorrow," he said in answer to Sam's question. _Assuming it goes well._

 

Sam nodded, feeling relieved. Hopefully that would mean he'd be able to see Dean again soon. They chatted about little things for the rest of the drive, and when they pulled up outside of Sam's apartment building it was too soon. "Are you sure you won't come in?" Sam asked, expression hopeless even though he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

 

Glancing at the clock, Dean shook his head regretfully. He was already going to be late. "I'm sorry," he apologized, putting the Impala in park. He leaned over and gave Sam a kiss, lingering for a moment. "I'll call when I get back, promise."

 

"You'd better," Sam mumbled against Dean's lips before capturing them in another kiss. When they broke apart, the next words that tripped off of Sam's tongue came unbidden, but they felt like the right ones to say, even if he couldn't explain why. "Stay safe, okay?" he asked, hand cupping Dean's cheek so his thumb could trace the fading scar beneath his eye. Suddenly realising how weird that was, he let go and fumbled for the door handle. With a hasty, “I'll see you later,” Sam got out of the car and hurried up to his building, turning to wave Dean off before slipping inside.

Dean watched Sam go, a lump inexplicably forming in his throat. He'd never had anyone tell him to stay safe before a hunt. The fact that Sam didn't even know he was going on a hunt caused his chest to tighten. Swallowing hard, Dean turned his gaze forward, putting the Impala in gear and heading for the place he was meeting Bobby.

Dean pulled up next to an old truck sitting next to the road. Killing the engine, Dean stepped out and headed for the false bottom in the trunk, grabbing what he'd need for this hunt. He heard Bobby approaching, and steeled himself.

"You're late," Bobby said, his voice gruff.

Dean shrugged, testing the sharpness of his machete. "So?"

"So, if you're gonna get serious about this 'Sam' kid, yer gonna have to tell him." Dean could feel Bobby's gaze digging into his back, and he straightened, setting his shoulders as he turned to face the older hunter.

"No, I don't. Sam's a good kid; he doesn't need to know about this stuff." Dean stared challengingly back at Bobby, daring him to say anything else.

Bobby never was one for playing it safe. "Dean, I can see that you care about this kid, a lot. You need to tell him; he needs to know how to protect himself if you're not there one day." He gazed steadily at Dean, watching the young hunter's throat work before he finally managed to speak.

"I will tell him. Just not yet. He doesn't need to know; I don't even know if this is gonna get serious." Dean was lying through his teeth, and Bobby knew it.

"Bullshit," he accused. "You sleep with him yet?"

Dean flushed slightly. "No."

Bobby snorted knowingly. "Take him on some actual dates?" Dean didn't say anything, but the Winchester's eyes flashed and his jaw clenched. "Thought so. You care for this boy. So make sure he can take care of himself. Now c'mon, don't want these leeches getting away from us." Bobby led the way into the woods, heading for the vampire nest, Dean grumbling unintelligibly behind him.

Dean didn't call him the next day, or the day after that. By the fourth day, he was starting to worry, and on the fifth day he sent a text asking Dean to please just let him know he was alright. He didn't know why he was freaking out so much. Dean was a mechanic, and surely he'd gone to do mechanic stuff. But the conversation he'd half-overheard that day in the meadow kept coming back to him; Dean telling a guy called Bobby that he didn't want anything to do with his father; that he'd gotten out of the life he used to lead and intended to stay out; that okay, he would do what was being asked of him, and that he would be there soon.  
  
Sam thought he might have heard the word 'kill' in there too somewhere, but he tried not to think about that. The idea that Dean had killed, or could be killed, was just incomprehensible.  
  
Jess was starting to notice that things weren't right with him. She'd called Sam a freak on several occasions and she'd called Dean worse, but Sam didn't care. Something inside of him knew that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Dean wasn't safe, and it scared the hell out of him.


	2. Chapter 2

The hunt had dragged on longer than Dean and Bobby had anticipated. A couple of the vamps had managed to flee, so he and Bobby had to track them down.

A full week after he'd left, Dean came back to his shop, moving stiffly. He had bruises all over his body, mostly from getting thrown around like a rag doll, but several bore distinctly human shapes. He was cut across one brow, and had some nasty cuts on his neck from one vamp almost managing to get her teeth in his neck.

Sighing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number, waiting for Sam to pick up. "Hey," he greeted, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "Just letting you know I'm back."

It was late when Dean called, but Sam hadn't been sleeping well lately so he picked up on the first ring. "Hey," he said breathlessly into the phone, heart already pounding with fear and uncertainty. "You sound like crap, are you okay?"

 

Dean laughed humorlessly. "I've had worse," he said truthfully. Nothing had required stitches, this time. "I'm sorry for worrying you; I got... Well, business got a bit out of hand."

 

“What happened?" Sam demanded. He'd always promised himself that he wouldn't ask, that he'd wait until Dean was ready to tell him, but Dean had just all but admitted that he was badly hurt and that wasn't okay. It didn't help that he had a feeling Dean was downplaying his injuries. "I could come over if you want?"

 

"No!" Dean said, much sharper than he'd intended. "No, it's fine," he said, softer this time. "I'm fine. Just went out with a buddy last night, got into a fight." That was at least the bare truth, Dean tried to console himself. It didn't work; the knot of guilt was still in his stomach; it hadn't left since Bobby had planted it there several nights before.

 

Sam didn't believe that for one second, although he couldn't really say why. Something in Dean's tone just told Sam he was lying. He didn't push it though; if Dean didn't want to tell him then he couldn't make him, and trying to would just make things awkward between them. "Sounds smart," was all he said, voice soft and maybe just a little wounded. "Well thanks for letting me know you're still alive, I guess. I'll let you get some sleep."

 

“Not my brightest decision,” Dean admitted. He took a deep breath, and said before he could stop himself, “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’ll tell you everything, when things calm down, I promise.” He hung up, scrubbing a hand over his face as he trudged up to his apartment.

 

It was only when he was under the blankets on his bed that he realized he’d called Sam “Sammy.”

 

Sam stared at the phone after they'd hung up, bewildered. Dean just called him Sammy. He didn't know how he felt about it; on the one hand, it was a nickname he'd always hated but that sounded so good on Dean's tongue - but on the other, Dean had just called him by the name given to his dead baby brother. That had to be weird, right? Confused and more than a little sad, Sam put his phone on his bedside table and settled down under the covers. Sleep didn't come for a long time.

Over the next few months, Dean and Sam kept seeing each other, going out, and growing closer. He'd only had one job since the fiasco with the vampire nest, and that one had left him with a wicked cut across the right side of his face, almost going across his eye. Damned wendigos.

He and Sam were hanging out in Sam's apartment one evening, watching movies and drinking beer and chatting, occasionally kissing. They'd slipped into a position where Sam had his feet propped on the coffee table, canted slightly, leaning against the armrest, and Dean was tucked up against Sam's side, his head resting on Sam's chest, the fingers of one hand idly toying with the frayed edges of a hole in the knee of Sam's jeans.

Dean had just thought that the night couldn't get much more perfect when his phone rang.

Sam was having a fantastic evening. He and Dean had been together since class had ended that afternoon, just hanging out with Sam's DVD collection and a bowl of popcorn. The popcorn was mostly all over the floor, having been knocked off the sofa during one of their make out sessions, but still - Sam was enjoying himself. Dean was currently tucked up against him, head on his chest, and Sam was absentmindedly playing with his hair. The fact that Dean had yet to snap at him for treating him like a girl meant good things.   
  
A sleepy kind of atmosphere had descended upon them, and Sam wasn't paying any attention to the flickering TV screen. He didn't even know what movie was playing, but that didn't matter. It was peaceful here with Dean very nearly in his arms and he felt like nothing from the outside world could penetrate the safe little bubble they'd created together. Understandably, he jumped out of his skin when Dean's phone rang.  
  
Groaning softly, Sam lifted his arm from around Dean so he could sit up. He wanted to ask Dean to ignore it, but he knew he never would. It hadn't happened recently, but Sam had worked out that when Dean's phone rang, he went running. Last time he hadn't even seen out the rest of their date; he'd just left and then returned a few days later with a nasty cut across his face. Sam hadn't asked.  
  
Once Dean was gone from his side, Sam stood up and collected the beer bottles, taking them into the kitchen to afford Dean some privacy while he was on the phone. He ditched them quickly and hurried back to hover outside of the living room door. It wasn't something he was proud of, eavesdropping on Dean's conversation, but he wasn't exactly forthcoming with any answers and Sam was worried about him.

"You gotta work on your sense of timing," Dean groaned, getting to his feet to pace around the coffee table.

"Cut the attitude, Dean. You got a serious problem." Bobby's voice sounded harried and breathless like he'd been running.

Dean straightened automatically, his whole being kicking into high gear. "What's going on?"

"Remember that nest of vamps we took out? One of them had a mate who was in a different town. You killed its mate, and now it's coming for yours."

"Sam," Dean breathed, turning to the kitchen just as the apartment door flew open and a figure ran in, darting for the kitchen where Sam was. "Sam!" Dean shouted, dropping the phone. He hadn't brought his machete inside; all of his tools were in the Impala, out on the street.

Sam heard Dean say his name and froze, thinking he'd been caught listening in. As it was, he was caught completely off-guard when the door was flung open, and he barely had time to make a sound before there was a hand around his throat, tugging him backwards into what felt like a woman's body. "Dean," he choked, panic flooding his system; he was struggling against the hold but he couldn't break it.  
  
Dean came running into the hall and stopped dead when he saw Sam and whoever had broken into the apartment. The fingers around Sam's throat flexed menacingly.   
  
"Stop right there, Winchester," a female voice close to his ear purred, sounding strangely seductive even though he could hear the undercurrent of a threat, "or I'll snap his neck," and there it was. Sam struggled harder as he began to panic, but something sharp with multiple points grazed the side of his throat and he ceased all movement even as he felt several trickles of blood begin to run.   
  
A gust of warm air against the cuts as the woman laughed caused Sam's heart to stutter in his chest - those were her _teeth_? His eyes were wide with fear as he stared at Dean, unsure whether he should beg for help or tell him to run.

 

Dean's worst nightmare was coming true. Sam was in trouble. Dean's mind raced, trying to figure out how to fix this. He didn't care if he got hurt, but Sam getting hurt was unthinkable. Shoving down his rising panic, Dean suddenly grinned, his grin wild and feral. "I remember killing your mate,” he purred, watching for his opening, for her to get distracted. “He put up one hell of a fight, I'll give him that much, but he couldn't fight the blade as I sliced it through his neck," he snarled, waiting for the emotion to hit the vampire. And there it was, the flash of pain and anger, just enough to distract her. Dean lunged, knocking the vampire away from Sam, his lips pulled back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl, shoving Sam behind him and he drove his weight into the vampire's middle.

 

Sam didn't have a clue what was happening, terror and adrenalin making it difficult to focus on the exchange between Dean and the woman, but then Dean was lunging and Sam screamed, "No!" just as he felt the woman's teeth ripping into his neck before he was knocked to the floor. Dazed and bleeding, Sam was helpless to do anything but watch as Dean and the woman fought. She raked her nails down his chest, ripping through his shirt and flesh, and used his cry of pain as the opportunity she needed to kick him onto his back and straddle him. Leaning down, she bared her teeth - fuck, her _teeth_ \- clearly intending to sink them into Dean's throat.

Dean snarled, fighting like a wild animal, his only conscious thought, _Gotta protect Sammy._ He thrashed under the vamp, finally managing to buck her off and to her feet. Lunging to his own feet with an animalistic growl, he fought her back out of the kitchen and through the living room, to the window that overlooked the alley. Using all of his strength, Dean shoved her out, making sure she'd actually fallen before rushing back to the kitchen.

He made sure Sam wasn't gonna bleed to death-- wouldn't that be ironic?-- and then he was dashing out of the apartment and down to the Impala, grabbing his machete and slamming the lid shut as he took off down the alley after the vampire. No way in hell was he letting her get away. She'd just be back.

And Dean was one protective, possessive bastard.

By the time Sam got himself together enough to stand up, Dean had thrown the woman out of the window and was running through the door. Sam swayed slightly on his feet, clutching his hand to his neck, and then followed. They hastened down the alley at the side of the apartment building, where Dean proceeded to... what?  
  
No.  
  
No!  
  
Except yes.  
  
He chopped the woman's head off.  
  
Maybe Sam was just losing too much blood, but there definitely seemed to be a headless body lying on the floor, and Dean definitely seemed to be holding the head. Sam whimpered, and slid a little way down the wall he was leaning against.  
  
"Dean..? What's going on?"

Dean glanced guiltily at Sam as he picked up the vampire's body, hauling it and the head past Sam and depositing them into the trunk of the Impala. "Sam, go back in the apartment, put something on your neck. I'll be right back." Waiting until Sam had complied-- poor bastard looked too stunned to do anything else-- Dean slid behind the driver's wheel.

When he returned from burning the vampire's body, Dean found Sam sitting on the couch, his eyes slightly less glazed. Dean sat down across from him, in the armchair, uncertain of how close Sam would want him. "How do you feel?" he asked gently.

"Like someone just chomped on my neck," Sam said, voice pleasingly steady despite the fact that his gaze was unfocused. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at Dean. "And like I then watched my boyfriend decapitate her. Why? How am I supposed to feel?"

 

"Freaked out?" Dean suggested, but he chuckled weakly. "Actually you're handling it pretty well, considering you almost became a vampire's revenge." Dean took in a deep breath, wishing like hell he didn't have to explain this after Sam almost died. "Remember a few months back, our first date in the meadow? Guy named Bobby Singer called me. He's a hunter, too, and he needed help taking out a nest of vamps-- vampires. That one I just killed, the one that was gonna kill you, was the mate of one of the vamps I killed at that nest. She was coming to kill my mate."

 

Sam's gaze snapped abruptly to Dean's, eyes wide and maybe a little bright, but not with tears. Definitely not. "Vampires?" he whispered. "Your mate? Do you realise how crazy that sounds? And who said I was your mate? That sounds like... We haven't even had sex, that's..." He shook his head, trying to clear it, and finally grasped what seemed to be the main issue here in order to ask, kind of hysterically, "What kind of hunter cuts people's heads off? You killed that girl!"

 

"That girl, whoever she was, was killed long before I got to her. She could have been centuries old, for all I know. And I'm a hunter of the supernatural, the things that hide in little kids' closets and go bump in the night. Monsters, myths, legends, they're real. And most of them are dangerous, and I kill the dangerous ones." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, looking at Sam, his eyes sad. "As for why she came after you, I reckon that's because it's fairly obvious that I... care about you," he finished, shifting uncomfortably.

 

"You're fucking insane," Sam choked, and oh God, trust him to finally feel like he was getting somewhere with a guy and then have him turn out to be nuts. "That stuff isn't real, Dean, it can't be. I have no explanation for some of the stuff that woman did--" her strength, her teeth, oh shit, _vampire teeth_ "--but she deserved to go to jail, not die for it!"

"Stick her in a jail and she'd drain everyone there within a week," Dean said harshly. Then he took another deep breath. "Sorry. Still shaken up, I guess. Look, I'll give you time, or whatever you need. This is a lot, I know, and I'm sorry you found out this way. Just... do me a favor, and get a silver knife. Keep it nearby; almost all monsters can be hurt or killed by silver." Dean stood up and reached out like he was going to pat Sam's shoulder, but he aborted the motion halfway through, his hand falling back awkwardly to his side. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice resigned. "If you want to see me again, you know where I am."

Dean turned and walked back out the door, down the stairs, and to the Impala, turning her on. The grumble of her engine sounded almost sad as she drove down the street, bearing Dean back to his empty apartment.

Sam didn't sleep that night. He told himself it was because his neck hurt, but that was bullshit. It was because he was sad, and confused, and scared. Not scared because Dean was crazy, or even because he'd killed someone. Sam was scared because he believed Dean. It made sense, after all. Dean disappearing for days at a time, coming back bruised and bloody. What if that was what his dad had gotten him into - hunting monsters? Christ, maybe Sam was the crazy one.  
  
He didn't get out of bed for the rest of the weekend, except to follow Dean's advice and get a silver knife to keep under his pillow, and eventually Jess stopped trying to get an answer out of him; he skipped class on Monday and threw his alarm clock at his bedroom door when Jess vowed to kill Dean. This wasn't Dean's fault, after all. Jess went to her own classes, and Sam eventually dragged himself out of bed around noon to shower and dress.  
  
When he arrived at the mechanic's, Dean's feet were sticking out from under a car yet again. Sam tripped over them on purpose, and then said, soft and wry, "Oh shit. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."

 

Dean had spent his first night at the bar, and the next at home. He was trying to drown out the pain filling his chest. He couldn't really blame Sam for reacting the way he had; any normal person wouldn't have believed Dean either.

When Sam tripped over his feet, Dean nearly knocked himself out on the bottom of the car trying to get out from under it. He scrambled to his feet, then froze awkwardly. Sam was here, that didn't mean he was ready for Dean to touch him yet. "Don't you ever watch where you're going?" he responded, his lips twitching into a half-hopeful, half-apprehensive grin.

Sam's smile was small and nervous, but it was there. "I'm sorry," he began, skipping all other pleasantries like 'hello' and 'how are you'. This was more important. "I reacted badly the other night. You saved my life and I didn't even say thank you. So... thank you." Sam huffed out a laugh and shifted his weight awkwardly. Maybe he shouldn't have come here before he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

 

Dean shrugged, his smile growing just a little. "It's what hunters do," he told Sam. "We save lives, when we can. But you're welcome." He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting nervously. Finally he swallowed down his nerves and let his mask fall, just a bit. "I missed you," he admitted softly, then held his breath, waiting to see what Sam would do.

 

"I missed you too," Sam murmured, taking a step closer to Dean. "And I believe you. About the monsters stuff. It's fucking crazy and it scares the shit out of me but for what it's worth, I don't think you're lying. Um, not anymore."

 

Dean stepped close to Sam, pulling the younger man in close, wrapping his arms around Sam tightly. "Thank God," he said, half-laughing. "I hated lying to you."

 

Sam's arms went around Dean easily, and he buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck, breathing him in. "I knew you were hiding something," he mumbled, voice muffled. "I was worried about you but I didn't want to ask; I knew you'd tell me when you trusted me enough." Dean smelled fantastic as always, of oil and metal and leather, and Sam pulled back just enough to kiss him. "It doesn't change anything, okay? I still want this."

 

Dean let out a soft, relieved breath as he kissed Sam back. "It's dangerous, Sam. I can't promise that I won't come back one day in an urn instead of the Impala. And if you're gonna stick with me, I'm gonna have to teach you to defend yourself, because Winchesters... Let's just say that we've gotten on a lot of monsters' radars in a bad way." Dean pulled back to look at Sam seriously. "It's gonna be hard, Sam. I cannot and will not absolutely guarantee your safety."

 

"Are you trying to put me off?" Sam challenged, eyebrow raised. "I'm sticking with you, there is no 'if'. I'm a smart guy, Dean, I know it's gonna be dangerous, and I hate the thought of you getting hurt or, fuck, killed, but that's why you're gonna teach me what you know. So I can help you, have your back when you go on hunts."

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about me bringing you on hunts?" Dean protested, but Sam's announcement didn't surprise him. Sam was just that type of guy, the type to be almost as protective as Dean when it came to the ones he cared about. And damn if that didn't almost steal Dean’s breath, the thought that maybe, just maybe, Sam felt the same way about him as he felt about Sam. He didn't want to name it just yet, but... it was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

 

"Me," Sam insisted stubbornly. "You're always cut up when you come back from a hunt or whatever. How can I just let you get hurt now that I know why? I can help you, I know I can; I can keep you safe." It didn't matter how dangerous it would be for him, it was surely twice as dangerous for Dean if he was going after these monsters alone. Sam cared about Dean too much to lose him.

 

Dean studied Sam, sighing and shaking his head ruefully at the determination he found there. "Damn. Guess I've got no choice," he muttered, laughing before kissing Sam again. "But you're gonna have to be damned good at fighting and defending yourself before I take you on _any_ hunts, because I can't always be watching your back. And you know that you can't tell anyone about this, about the hunting, right?"

 

Sam melted into Dean and his kiss, drawing comfort from his touch. "I'll be good," he promised against Dean's lips. "I'll learn. And I don't expect you to protect me; that's my job." He laughed then, serious moment over. "Are you kidding me? No one would believe me, they'd have me locked up. Your secret is safe, I swear."

 

"All right. God, can't believe I'm saying this, but all right." Dean laughed and pulled back. "First things first: gun. You're gonna need to be real good with a gun; it comes in handy a lot more than a knife." He grinned and clapped Sam on the back, slinging his arm around Sam's waist as he led the college boy to the Impala, opening up the trunk and showing him the arsenal concealed beneath the false bottom.

 

"Holy shit," Sam spluttered, staring at Dean with wide eyes. "All that's been in here the whole time? I don't know if I should be impressed or terrified."

 

Dean laughed. "A little bit of both, and a whole lot respectful. Hunters can be damned paranoid, and damned dangerous if they ever go off their rocker. Most of 'em die before then, but sometimes... Well, sometimes hunters become as dangerous as the monsters they hunted." Picking up a sawed-off shotgun, he unloaded it, showing Sam the salt-and-iron-filled shells. "Salt and iron. I use this mostly for ghosts; they can't stand the feel of salt and iron. Ghosts and demons also can't cross salt lines..." Dean continued, giving Sam his first lesson in hunting.

 

Several months passed. Sam and Dean continued to grow closer, but most of their time together was dedicated to training, so dates became few and far between and they still hadn't gone much further than kissing. Sam was determined to be ready by the time Bobby called with another hunt for Dean, and as it turned out, he was. Currently they were sitting in the Impala outside of a house, waiting to go inside and burn some bones buried in the basement. Sam was shaking slightly, but he was blaming the cold night air and not the nerves that were making him feel nauseous. "Are we ready?" he asked with some trepidation, gripping the gun Dean had given him.

 

Dean was checking to make sure they still had enough shells and their other weapons, but he glanced up at the note of nervousness in Sam's voice. "Yeah," he said, reaching out and laying a hand on Sam's arm. " _You're_ ready. It's simple; we go inside, dig up the body, salt and burn the bones, and keep the ghost off of us while we do that, because the bitch isn't going to go easy." He leaned over and kissed Sam, hard. "You'll do great," he reassured the younger man. "Now c'mon."

 

Sam tried to draw confidence and strength from Dean, and he got out of the car, ignoring the way his hand shook on the door handle. "I won't let you down," he promised, trying to sound as certain as he wished he felt, and followed Dean toward the house.

Dean reached over and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "First hunt's always the worst," he said. "Mine sure as hell was." He led the way into the house.

Everything went well until they were ready to drop the matches on the salted bones, and then the ghost finally decided to put up a fight. Either that or she was just slow. Thankfully, she went after Dean, labeling him the more immediate threat. As Dean held her off, he shouted at Sam to drop the matches on the bones, grinning in triumph as the ghost went up in flames with her bones. Moving back over to Sam, Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Good job," he praised, a genuine gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

"Fuck," Sam hissed, yanking Dean into a hug and a hard, desperate kiss. "I thought she was gonna kill you. If I'd been any slower with that match..." He shuddered and squeezed Dean tighter.

"It's extremely rare to die from a ghost who hasn't gone full poltergeist or stuck around from revenge," Dean reassured Sam, kissing the other man back just as desperately. "You did fine, you did perfect," he murmured, kissing Sam again.

He groaned when his phone rang, thumping his forehead against Sam's shoulder. "Probably just Bobby, making sure we're okay." He grabbed his phone and answered it. "Hello?"

"Dean. Been a while, son."

Dean froze, pulling back, a stunned expression on his face. "Dad," he said numbly, clearing his throat. "What... Why are you calling me?"

"Because I know a way to find Sammy."

Sam still felt uncertain and shaky, so he was perfectly content to stay near Dean while he took the call. When he realised who it was, however, he took a hasty step back. Dean's dad was calling him? That could not be good, given the way they'd left it. Sam rested a hand on Dean's arm, lending silent support but keeping his distance. The look on Dean's face was freaking him out more than any ghost could.

Dean had paled at his father's words, and he couldn't find his voice for a few moments. "You... you... what? No, no. Sammy's dead."

"No, he's not. I've been able to confirm that much. Dean, please." His father gave him an address in Nevada and told Dean to meet him there, then hung up.

Dean stayed frozen for a few moments more, and then looked up at Sam. "He says... He says Sammy's alive, and he can find him."

Sam let out a shaky breath and hesitated only a second before taking Dean into his arms. "That's huge," he choked out on a half-laugh, grinning into Dean's hair. "That's amazing, Dean, that's your baby brother." He pulled back to smile down at Dean, not really understanding why he looked like he was about to throw up. "You're gonna go to him, right? You have to go to him."

 

"I don't... I don't know," Dean said shakily. He was still dazed; his father had sounded so certain that Sammy was alive. "I guess I will. He told me where to meet him." Dean swayed suddenly, and reached out for Sam's shoulder, steading himself. "Oh God, Sam, Sammy's _alive_." He broke then, clinging to Sam and crying like he hadn't in years, not since he was four and Sammy had first been taken.

 

Sam didn't know what to do, so he just held Dean, lips pressed to his temple, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance. When Dean was calm enough, he led him out to the Impala, and it was Sam who drove them back. There was a bus stop across the road from the mechanic's, so he wasn't stranded, but that didn't stop him from covering Dean's hand with his own when they pulled up outside. "Do you want me to come in?" he asked, voice low and soothing. Sam didn't want to leave Dean alone, especially if he would have to leave in the morning to face his father and, ultimately, his long-lost little brother.

Dean gnawed on his lower lip for a second before finally saying, "Please," softly. He led the way into his apartment, and then curled up on the couch, tucked up against Sam's side, almost sitting in the younger man's lap. He was still stunned, didn't have room for much other emotion besides surprise, and gratefulness that Sam was here, that Dean didn't have to handle this himself. It was one of the things that made Dean love Sam, his constancy.

Wait a second. Dean froze for a moment, then relaxed thoughtfully. _I love Sam,_ he thought, rolling the words around carefully in his mind, tasting them, turning them like gems. And they were; he'd never been in love before. _I'm in love with Sam,_ he silently marveled.

They sat like this often now, Dean leaning against Sam while they watched a movie or just talked about random things. This was different though. Dean needed something from this and he was asking Sam to provide it; Sam only hoped that he could deliver. He wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him close and not caring about the slightly awkward position, trying to convey as much comfort and support and love as he could with just his touch.   
  
Because he did love Dean. He'd known that for a while. It was impossible to not; he was kind and generous and sort of an asshole at times but that was more endearing than anything. Sam had been gone for him pretty much since day one, so the realisation that he was completely, head-over-heels in love with him wasn't exactly a surprise. He hadn't said anything though, because he wasn't sure that Dean felt the same way. Besides, Dean was all about taking it slow, and they still hadn't even had sex yet - the L word so soon would probably freak him the fuck out.  
  
"It'll be okay," Sam murmured into Dean's hair, surprising himself out of his thoughts. "You'll find Sammy and everything will work out, I promise."

Dean almost jumped out of his skin when Sam broke the silence, but he settled back easily. "I hope so," he whispered, enjoying the feeling of Sam's arms around him. Truth be told, he didn't have any idea what he would do with the knowledge of Sammy still definitely alive, much less where to find him.

He worried over the problem until Sam's soothing fingers on his scalp and back finally lulled him to sleep.

They both slept fitfully but Sam was able to soothe Dean for the most part. The next day, Sam stood back while Dean got his things together, and then helped him pile everything into the car. "You need anything, you find anything - call me, okay?" he instructed, pulling Dean into a hard kiss. "Good luck."  
  
He waited until Dean had disappeared from sight before crossing the street and catching a bus back to his apartment. Jess wanted to know where he'd been all night, deduced gleefully that the circles under his eyes meant that he'd _finally_ gotten some, but he just flipped her off and went to bed. He had more important things to worry about than Jess' interest in his love life - like what Dean would find when his dad took him to Sammy, and how much of a mess he would be in when he got back. If he came back at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean drove for most of the day before finally reaching the address John had given him. When he pulled up, Dean sat in the Impala for a moment, trying to swallow back his nerves. After so long, to know that Sammy was alive... it was tough. Finally, though, Dean got out of the Impala and walked into the run-down cabin.

The sight that greeted him wasn't entirely what he expected. John Winchester had a demon tied to a chair in the middle of a devil's trap, and there was a table laid out with the usual demon-interrogation tools: salt, holy water, a silver knife, etc. It looked like John hadn't started yet, was probably waiting for Dean.

John Winchester turned to Dean as he walked through the door, smiling grimly. "Long time, no see."

Dean stared at John for a moment, but he felt nothing but pity for the man in front of him. He supposed one time he'd loved John, but the years of constant moving, danger, crappy motel rooms, and obsession over finding Sammy had leeched it all away. "First things first, John," he said, his voice cold. "How did Sammy survive? There was blood everywhere. If it didn't come from Sammy, then where?"

There was a flicker of shock and sadness behind John's eyes, then resignation lowered shutters over the older hunter's eyes, making them flat, expressionless. "Two men came for Sammy. They were part of an infancy ring, stealing young children and selling them. One of the men had made a deal ten years before with a crossroads demon. His soul for his and his partners' continued success. His deal came due the day he came for Sammy."

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?" Dean asked, struggling to keep from attacking the older man. All this time, Dean had been staggering under the weight of the guilt that he hadn't been able to protect Sammy, that Sammy had died because Dean couldn't take care of him. And now he was finding out that the blood hadn't been Sammy's, that Sammy had merely been kidnapped? It was enough to make Dean want to tear John's head off.

"Because it was better for you to think Sammy was dead," John said, but offered no further explanation when Dean gaped at him. "Now, let's interrogate this demon, and then go find Sammy."

It took Dean almost until John was picking up the plastic jug of holy water to find his voice. "No."

John froze, then turned slowly to face Dean. "’No’?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean, if Sammy was sold, he's probably got a decent life. I'm not going to screw that up by dropping in unexpectedly on him, dropping all this shit that we've been in, gotten ourselves into, on him as well. I'm not screwing up his life like you screwed up mine." John visibly blanched at that last comment, but Dean barreled on, merciless. "I've finally found a balance. I'm going back to Palo Alto, to being a mechanic and occasional hunter. I'm out of the life as much as I'll ever be, and it took me twenty-three years. How long do you think it would take Sammy, assuming he survived that long? I'm not gonna shove him into this world, I won't have that on my shoulders."

Turning on his heel, Dean walked out of the cabin, back into the Impala, and drove away without looking back.

If Sam was expecting anything when he answered the door the next day, it wasn't to find Dean standing on the other side, looking absolutely wrecked. "Are you okay?" Sam demanded immediately, reaching out to catch Dean's hand and tug him inside. "What happened?"

 

Dean followed Sam inside, sinking onto the couch heavily. He put his head in his hands, speaking to his knees."Sammy's alive. All that blood... John said it came from one of the two men who came to grab Sammy. I was too old for them, they were part of an infancy ring, grabbing and selling infants and young children. The blood came from one of the guys. He'd made a deal with a crossroads demon that he and his partners would never be caught. His deal came due." Dean felt drained as he spoke.

 

Sam sat beside Dean, rubbing slow circles into his lower back as he listened and tried to understand. He knew about demon deals, and that certainly explained the blood Dean remembered finding, but there was still one thing that didn't make sense. "So why are you here?" he asked after a moment of silence, chewing on his lip. "Why aren't you with Sammy?"

 

"Because I don't want to screw up his life. John did some digging, found out they sold the kids into adoption agencies, stuff like that. Sammy's most likely got a decent life, and I don't want to screw up his life like John screwed up mine. It took me twenty-three years to find balance between a normal life and hunting." It felt good, like throwing off a dark cloak, to realize and say aloud that John had screwed up Dean's life. Dean had never had a _prayer_ at being normal, not until he'd finally left John behind.

 

"Would you have to bring him into hunting, though?" Sam wondered, perplexed. "You could just see him, make sure he's okay. You don't even have to talk to him if you don't want, but would it not make you feel better to know for certain that he's safe, happy?" He got why Dean was hesitant. Sam had chosen this life for himself, but Dean hadn't had a choice at all. Sammy did deserve normality, but did that mean he had to live without knowing his big brother?

 

Dean sensed the other questions going through Sam’s mind, and he sighed, leaning against the back of the couch. "If we went to him, then every monster would know that he was a Winchester, and would go for him. Even if we used false names, took precautions, well," Dean barked out a humorless laugh. "Fate's always loved fucking the Winchesters over."

 

Sam wasn't comfortable with it, but he could tell that Dean's mind was made up. And maybe he was right; maybe seeing Sammy would just put him in danger. Sighing softly, Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder and threaded their fingers together, hoping to provide some comfort. "Alright," he murmured. "If that's what you think is best. Are you okay?"

 

Dean shrugged, his face pressed into the crook of Sam's neck. "No. I'm not," he whispered, being completely honest for the first time in his life about his emotional state. "I'm not okay. Everything just came crashing down, Sammy. I feel like the rug's been jerked out from under my feet," he whispered brokenly, too upset and confused to realize he'd called Sam "Sammy" for the second time.

 

Sam flinched at the nickname but he knew Dean was upset, so he didn't call him on it. Instead, he got his arms around Dean and sat back, almost cradling him as he stroked a hand through his hair. "It'll be okay," he promised, lips against Dean's temple once more. "You made the right decision. You're protecting him. But at least you know the truth now; you know he's alive, and that's what matters, right?"

 

Dean swallowed, hard. "Yeah. Yeah, that's the important thing." He laid his head on Sam's chest, his arms going around Sam's waist. No thoughts of closer contact went through his mind; he just wanted the simple comfort of being held.

 

Sam didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He just tightened his arms around Dean and relaxed into the sofa, fingers still moving through his hair. At long last Dean's breathing evened out, and Sam smiled. When Jess got home a few hours later, they were both fast asleep, still wrapped around each other on the couch. She didn't move to wake them; they looked peaceful, but it was the kind of peace that was born of a reprieve from troubled thoughts and they didn't need to be returned to them just yet. Instead, she threw a blanket over them, and retreated to her room without making a sound.

The next few days were rough as Dean adjusted to his new knowledge. Five days after he'd first learned that Sammy was still alive, Dean was in Sam's apartment, Jess spending the weekend with her family. Dean and Sam were making out on the couch, Dean laying on his back, Sam propped above him, the TV blathering on unheeded in the background.

Pulling back slightly, Dean gave a small tug on Sam's hair with the hand tangled in it, his other hand splayed against Sam's lower back. "Remind me again: why am I on the bottom?" he grumbled affectionately.

"Because you're smaller, and therefore more submissive," Sam smirked, pulling Dean's full bottom lip between his teeth so he could suck on it. "Why, would you rather be on top?" His eyes flashed, and suddenly they weren't just talking about their current position anymore.

 

"Mm, now there's a thought," Dean purred, his eyes narrowing in mock-thoughtfulness, but it did little to conceal the answering flash in his own eyes. He tugged Sam back in, kissing him with a new, hungry edge. His hands started roaming over Sam, exploring the familiar planes of his torso. With a nip to Sam's lower lip, Dean murmured, "Never said I didn't like this, though."

 

Sam hummed and arched into Dean's touch like a cat, managing to pull away from Dean's lips to nose along his jaw and suck a mark into his neck. "Would you maybe like it better in a bed?" he breathed, and maybe he was pushing the boundaries a little bit but sue him, they'd been together for months and Sam was beyond ready for them to take the next step.

 

"Why? You gonna woo me, now?" Dean teased lightly, but he sat up, gently pushing Sam back and then tugging him to his feet, kissing him hungrily, a slight edge of desperateness seeping into the kiss. He'd wanted this for a long time, but he'd also wanted this to be special.

 

Sam didn't answer, just grinned and led Dean down the hall to his bedroom. This was uncharted territory - Dean hadn't been in here before - and Sam was just glad that he'd cleaned it last night. Once inside, Sam shut the door and pulled Dean close, capturing his lips in a hard kiss. "Want you," he sighed into Dean's mouth even as he began walking him back toward the bed.

 

Dean smiled against Sam's lips even as he whispered, "Want you, too." He quickly shed his shirt before he let Sam push him down onto the bed. Leaning back on his elbows, he looked at Sam with his eyes full of lust and love. "Want to see you. Lose the shirt," he insisted.

 

Heart hammering in his ears, blood singing with arousal and anticipation, Sam complied. His shirt joined Dean's on the floor right before he joined Dean on the bed, claiming his mouth once again. "This is okay, right?" he asked as he trailed a hand down Dean's chest, enjoying the feel of smooth skin and hard muscle, until it reached the waistband of his jeans. He flicked the button. "Please tell me it's okay."

 

Dean chuckled breathlessly, his hands gripping Sam's shoulders as he arched into the younger man's touch. "It's okay, it's fine, it's perfect," he chanted, his eyes sliding shut with lust and sensation. He let his hands begin to wander, already knowing the shape of Sam's body, but yearning to learn the feel of it.

 

Sam moaned in appreciation of the hands on his skin and set to work undoing Dean's jeans. He got them open and pushed them down far enough that Dean could kick them off, leaving his underwear on for now. "Oh, yeah," he breathed, palming Dean's cock through the material. "Someone upstairs liked you."

 

Dean snickered, using his grip on Sam's upper body to roll them so Dean was on top now, one knee on either side of Sam's hips. "Let's see if he liked you just as much," Dean breathed against Sam's lips, his own hand moving down Sam's stomach to undo the top of his jeans and then pull them off of Sam's legs. He smirked at the tent in Sam's briefs. "Guess he-- Sam." Dean's blood froze in his veins as he caught sight of the mark running over the tops of Sam's thighs that looked eerily like a long-healed burn.

 

"What?" Huffing impatiently, Sam propped himself up on an elbow to follow Dean's gaze, and his face heated with embarrassment. "Oh, I know," he mumbled, feeling his arousal begin to lessen considerably as he moved his free hand to spread out over his thighs, trying to cover most of the mark from view. "I know. It's hideous." Sam had always been self conscious about his birthmark, but he had genuinely thought that it wouldn't matter to Dean. Apparently he was wrong.

 

Dean was staring at the mark like it might bite him. "Please tell me that's not a burn," he managed to choke out. He hadn't seen a scar like that since... Hesitantly, hoping against hope that he was mistaken, he reached out to touch the shiny, taut skin. His fingers touched the skin, and he snatched it back like _he'd_ been burned. He exploded off of Sam, throwing himself off the bed to stand, trembling, in the middle of the floor. "Oh God, no," he whispered, almost whimpering.

 

Eyes wide and heart pounding for a whole new reason, Sam slid off the bed and approached Dean carefully from behind. He laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Dean? It's not a burn, it's a birthmark. I was born with it. I..." He took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Is it really that bad?" Did he repulse Dean?

 

Dean shook his head frantically, backing away a step. "Sam... Sammy," he said, using the name of his little brother on purpose. "You got that when you were six months old. A demon came into our house, killed our mom, and burned our house down. A rafter fell on your crib, burning you." He shook his head, trying to clear it, wishing desperately that it wasn't true, that Sam wasn't Sammy. He held his head in his hands. Oh god. His little brother. He'd been dating _his little brother_ , kissing him, had almost... He choked down the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble out of him. Fate just loved to screw with the Winchesters.

 

Sam followed when Dean stepped away, eyes wide and confused. "No," he murmured, shaking his head. "No, Dean, I'm not him, I'm not Sammy. I'm Sam. I'm just Sam, I'm not your brother. I was born with this, I swear to God. Please, Dean, you're scaring me."

Dean shook his head stubbornly. "I know that mark!" he snarled, suddenly furious. "I spent _hours_ every night after the fire tracing it, wishing to God that fire had never happened, that we still had Mom, had our home! I _know_ that mark," he repeated, the fight going out of him, along with almost every other emotion. He felt dead, hollow inside. He pulled his clothes back on, the motions robotic.

"Well," he said, his voice flat as he walked out of the bedroom, heading for the door, "I guess I managed to screw up Sammy's... _your_ life anyway." He shut the door behind himself, walking down to the Impala, getting in, and driving. He didn't have a destination in mind, he just drove. Out of the neighborhood, out of the city.

Sam dropped down onto the bed, shaking violently. He flinched when he heard Dean leave, and a violent sob ripped itself out of him. Just as he had that night after the vampire attack, Sam knew that Dean was speaking the truth; they were brothers. Oh God, they were brothers. He felt like his whole world was falling out from beneath him - Dean was gone, disgusted and angry, and Sam's entire life had been a lie.  
  
Crying bitterly, unable to even contemplate going after Dean, Sam curled up under the covers and pulled them over his head. This time, he might not get out of bed for a week.

Dean drove until Baby nearly ran out of gas, and then he only stopped to fill her up before driving on. Eventually he had to stop, had to pull over and sleep, and that was when he finally allowed all the bottled-up emotions to burst forth, wracking his frame with shuddering sobs and laughs. It was a modern-day tale of Oedipus, this mess he'd gotten himself caught up in. He'd fallen in love with his brother.

Dean lost track of the time he spent on the road, feeling empty, the emptiness aching. When he next paid attention to where he was, he found that he was crossing the border into Idaho. Setting his teeth, Dean decided it was time to quit fooling himself: He'd never be normal. He was a hunter, a Winchester. Normal wasn't part of his vocabulary. What was one more oddity?

He drove a while longer, and at the next stop, he began inquiring about any odd events. Slipping into the old routine was oddly comforting, and Dean let himself go, lost himself in the rhythms of hunting.

And if he woke up every night after dreaming of Sam, _Sammy_ , then that was no one's business but his own.

Two months passed, and Sam barely survived. Jess eventually dragged him out of bed a few days after Dean left but he refused to tell her what had happened - how did he explain that he'd been dating his brother and didn't regret one second of it even now that he knew? It took another week to realise that he had to start acting like a human being again if he wanted her to leave him alone, so he'd started going through the motions. Attending class, drinking beer, laughing with his friends - and absolutely not crying himself to sleep every night.  
  
Sam didn't know what he felt worse about - the fact that he'd been lied to his whole life or that he'd lost Dean - but he had a pretty good idea. He supposed it didn't matter either way, because he couldn't do anything about either issue: his parents were dead and Dean had vanished off the face of the earth. It took a full two months for the idea to come to Sam. He could just call Dean.  
  
It was no surprise when the call rang through to voicemail, so Sam just waited for the beep and started talking. "I hope you're okay," he began, closing his eyes, "and safe. I know you don't want to hear from me but there's some stuff I need to say, so could you listen?" The breath he took then was deep and unsteady, grounding. "My name is Sam Wesson. I was born and raised in San Francisco. I got accepted into Stanford when I was eighteen, and my parents died in a car accident when I was twenty. When I was twenty three, I met a guy named Dean Winchester, and he blew me away. Eventually I realised that he was more important to me than anyone else. I was willing to put my life on the line to protect him, and that's exactly what I did. What I would still do."  
  
Sam's voice was embarrassingly thick by this point and he had to pause to dash the tears off his cheeks and pull himself together a little. "I'm not your brother, Dean. Maybe a DNA test will say otherwise but that's not what matters. I don't remember you, I don't remember the fire. As far as I'm concerned, this mark is something I was born with. Sammy is dead - or, no, he's alive. He's happy and he's safe and he's in college, getting ready to make something of himself. I'm not him; I'm not your brother. I'm just the guy who loves you. So come home, Dean, please."  
  
He had to hang up before he lost it, and the phone landed on the floor with a clatter that, to Sam, was so loud it almost drowned out the knocking on the door. Sam's heart leapt up into his mouth. It couldn't be Dean... could it?

Dean let himself get caught up in the rhythm of hunting for two months. In that time he killed more monsters than he ever had in a year, and he collapsed face-first on the bed every night.

It didn't stop him from dreaming of Sam, though. He still dreamt of Sam, his memories of every time they'd been together flashing through his dreams.

When he got back to the Impala after a particularly grueling hunt, he saw he'd had a call come in. The voicemail light was blinking, and Dean hoped it was Bobby calling with another job.

It wasn't. As Dean listened, he felt himself grow stiller. When the voicemail ended, he didn't even realize he'd let the phone slip through his fingers to fall on the seat beside him. His mind was working busily, thoughts crashing into each other frantically. Fingers trembling, he reached for his phone, listening to the voicemail again. He managed to keep it together until Sam's last sentence, begging him to come home.

 _Home_.

Tossing the phone to the side, Dean started up the Impala.

John Winchester stood outside the door that his sources told him was home to one Sam Wesson. He'd been digging frantically, almost maniacally, trying to find out which of a thousand adoptees could be his son in the town the demon had named: Palo Alto.

When a young man answered the door, he smiled. "Sam Wesson?" he asked, but barreled on before the other man could confirm. "My name is John Winchester. I'm your father."

Sam sagged with disappointment when the guy behind the door wasn't Dean, but he recovered his manners just in time to learn that he was his father. "What?" he breathed, eyes wide. This situation clearly had to be handled very carefully, and Sam made the snap decision to deny all knowledge. "Um, no. No, you're not. I'm sorry, my father's dead. You must have the wrong person."

 

"No, I don't," John said confidently. "You have a scar across both of your thighs, looks like a burn mark? You were adopted when you were a little younger than three years old. You were kidnapped by some men working an infancy ring."

 

"No," Sam repeated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I don't care. My name is Sam Wesson, and you're not my father."

 

"Maybe I'm not the man who raised you," John plowed on, getting slightly desperate, "but I am your biological father. You have a brother, his name is Dean Winchester." After all these years, Sam couldn't just be brushing him off!

 

"I know Dean," Sam acknowledged, voice shaking slightly, "but he's just my mechanic. He's not my brother. We don't even get on all that well. I'm not interested in whatever you have to say."

 

John caught the shaky note in Sam's voice and stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. "Dean's not just your mechanic," he accused, his voice low. "If he was, you would be able to say that without your voice shaking."

 

Sam took a step back despite himself and actually let John in. _Shit_ , he thought desperately, even as he shook his head yet again. "He's just my mechanic," he insisted, knowing that he sounded less than convincing. "In all honesty, he pisses me off. Arrogant bastard thinks he knows everything."

 

"That sounds like Dean," John said while he studied Sam's features closely. "He is an arrogant bastard, but he protects those he loves." Spying the scars on Sam's neck, he asked, "Where did you get those?" They looked like vampire teeth to John, and the only reason he could think of that the boy would have been able to survive a vampire attack was if Dean was protecting him.

 

Sam knew better than to lie here, and he drew from his feelings the night he got those scars. "Some crazy chick bit me," he said dismissively, like he had no idea what relevance this might have. "Dean got her off me and then tried to tell me she was a vampire. If that's your son then I'm sorry but he's a crazy fucker as well as arrogant."

 

John didn't say anything, but he spied some paint just peeking out from under the rug in the entryway. Bending down and folding it back, he exposed a devil's trap. As he straightened, he raised one eyebrow as he looked back at Sam. "And I suppose Dean painted this without you knowing? I wonder how he could have found the time to be so precise without worrying about you catching him," he mused, his tone vaguely suggestive. The idea that Dean and Sam had been involved made him vaguely nauseous, and he reasoned with himself that Dean was no idiot; he wouldn't put someone at risk like that.

 

Sam felt backed into a corner, and he was helpless to do anything but give up some of his ground to John. "Okay, so maybe I believed him and let him set down some protection, but that doesn't mean we're friends. And we're _not_ brothers. Could you please leave?"

 

"No, you're not friends." John felt certainty hardening in his gut like a ball of lead. "You were more. You did more than just believe him," he added as he walked through the apartment, spotting the tell-tale protections only hunters would use. "You joined him. You're a hunter now." He turned to gaze steadily at his youngest son, anger and confusion warring in his eyes. "But why didn't Dean tell me he'd met you?" he mused aloud.

 

"I don't know, maybe he was mad at you," Sam snapped, raising an eyebrow. He needed to get John out of there before he connected any more dots. Maybe Dean had called it off when they'd found out and didn't want anything to do with him anymore, but something told Sam that wouldn't matter to his - their - father. "I didn't even know you existed; he didn't mention you once."

"Now I find that hard to believe," John snorted. "Considering that the last time we talked, he told me I screwed up his life, and he as good as told me he'd kill me if I screwed up Sammy's-- _yours_." He watched Sam nonchalantly, alert for any giveaway reaction, though he wasn't sure what he was looking for.

Dean had been surprised to learn he wasn't far from Palo Alto; only a few towns away. He was already halfway home.

Sam twitched, but he covered it up by shrugging. "Even more reason for him to not talk about you. If he hates you, then why would he need to?"

 

"To warn you about me, perhaps?" John suggested. He'd seen Sam twitch, and knew that Dean had talked about him. John walked around Sam slowly, studying him. "Not bad," he decided. "You've definitely got the strength to defend yourself. Dean couldn't have chosen a better apprentice."

 

"Shame he didn't, 'cause you're a fucking psycho," Sam spat, shuddering when he felt John's appraising gaze on him. "I don't give a shit what you have to say. Get out of my apartment."

"Oh? Then why are you so scared?" John sneered, stepping closer, invading Sam's space. "And how are you gonna make me?"

"He might not make you, but I will." Dean's voice rang cold through the apartment even as the _snick_ of a gun being cocked echoed down the hall.

All thoughts for John and the threat he posed, to himself and to Dean fled when Sam heard that voice. Tears sprang to his eyes immediately and he staggered around John to get a look at the guy behind him, to make sure it really was... "Dean?" he gasped on a sob, knees suddenly feeling very unsupportive.

Dean's gaze flicked to Sam before focusing back on John. "Step away from him," he ordered coldly, his eyes flat and hard.

John watched his elder son carefully. He saw no sign of compassion, only an icy surety. Unease wrenched his gut, tainted with fear. _He_ had created this monster, he realized. He and the life he'd dragged Dean into. Dean was right; he had screwed up the other man's life, almost from the get-go. Raising his hands slowly, John stepped to the side, watching as Dean slowly moved so he was standing between John and Sam, the gun never wavering.

"You love him," John realized, startled, as he studied the way Dean was standing in front of Sam. "You've fallen in love with him. Your own brother."

"I fell in love with him long before I knew he was my brother," Dean said coldly. "And he's not my brother in any way except blood. Now you're going to walk out that door, and never come back. I ever see you again, I shoot first, ask questions later."

John searched Dean's gaze, his stomach dropping as he found no hint of mercy in the other Winchester's eyes. "Very well," he said softly, still stunned. He turned and walked out of the apartment, his steps slow and dazed.

Dean watched John go, never lowering the gun until he'd heard John's truck start up and drive away. Then he put the gun away, and turned back to face Sam. "Hey," he said, one side of his mouth twitching up in a smile.

Sam's heart was pounding, his breathing ragged, and his knees hadn't gotten any stronger, but that didn't stop him from launching himself into Dean's arms. "Oh my God," he sobbed, face buried in Dean's neck. "Oh my God, Dean." His hands roamed Dean's back, gripped his shoulders and finally slid up into his hair, holding him tight. Sam had no idea why Dean was here, whether he'd gotten the voicemail or he just wanted to fend John off, but he couldn't stop touching.

 

"Hey, you're fine, I've got you," Dean soothed, running his hands down Sam's back, stroking softly. "I've got you," he murmured, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Sam's temple without thinking. "He's gone, and he won't come back if he knows what's good for him." Dean let his own hands roam over Sam's body, assuring himself that Sam was really okay.

 

"You think that's why I'm freaking out?" Sam demanded, half-hysterical. "Dean, you're here, you're... _Why_ are you here?"

 

Dean pulled back slightly. "I got your voicemail," he said, his voice rough. "And... Well, I guess it was the last straw. I couldn't stay away any longer. I missed you too much." He glanced away sheepishly.

 

Sam melted against Dean, shaking uncontrollably. "Stay," he begged, pressing a kiss to Dean's cheek, not sure if one on the lips would be permitted just yet. "Please stay, I love you so much, can't do it without you."

 

"You think I came back just to leave?" Dean demanded incredulously. "I swear, you're so stupid sometimes," he said, his voice fondly exasperated. He threaded his fingers through Sam's hair, pulling the younger man down for a kiss. After two months, it was mind-blowing.

 

Sam moaned into Dean's mouth, clutching him closer even as he trembled against him. No, he hadn't thought that, not really, but at this point he wasn't taking any chances. "Not stupid, just checking," he mumbled as his hands slid back down Dean's body to slip beneath his shirt. "Missed you."

 

Dean let his own hands move down to the edge of Sam's shirt as he kissed Sam again. "Missed you, too," he murmured softly, tugging at the hem of Sam's shirt.

 

"Dean, wait," Sam mumbled when he felt the tugging on his shirt, and removed his own hands from beneath Dean's. "Wait, what are we doing? I don't think... Not now." Dean had always wanted their first time to be special, and yes, they'd just been reunited after an agonising two months apart and they were both desperate, but that would just make it anything but special. They needed to calm down, to get used to each other again, before they took anything further.

 

"Damn it," Dean muttered, scowling, but there was little heat behind it. "Why you gotta be so sensible?" he sighed, moving his hands back to safer territory. "You're right," he admitted. He pressed his forehead against Sam's shoulder, sighing. "You're right."

 

Sam huffed a little laugh, bringing his hand up so he could play with the short hairs at the nape of Dean's neck. "I know.  I'm sorry." He smiled softly as an idea came to him. "We could still go to bed, but will you just hold me? I feel like I haven't slept in two months."

 

Dean felt an answering smile tug at his lips. "As long as you hold me, too," he said before moving to double check the protections. When he was certain they were still secure, he turned back to Sam, holding a hand out.

 

Sam took Dean's hand and allowed himself to be led to the bedroom. Once there, he shut the door and pulled his shirt off, wanting skin-to-skin contact even if they weren't going to be doing anything other than sleeping. He hesitated when he reached for the button on his jeans. His boxers did absolutely nothing to hide the burns on his thighs. "I should keep these on..." he murmured, nervous. Logically he knew that Dean had freaked because the marks were familiar, not because they were ugly, and he hoped that they'd gotten past that - but that didn't mean he could get the look of abject horror and rejection on Dean's face out of his mind when he thought about exposing himself again. Sam didn't want to push things, for either of them.

 

Dean stood still for a moment, watching Sam debating with himself. Dean knew what Sam was thinking, worrying about, and he'd thought about it a lot, too. After a moment, he stripped down to his boxers, then moved forward, gently undoing and pushing down Sam's jeans. "I don't care about those anymore," he murmured, leaning up to kiss Sam softly before pulling Sam back to the bed and climbing in. After Sam had joined him, Dean pushed the younger man onto his back, and then scooted down the bed, so that he was straddling Sam's knees. "I don't care," he repeated, lifting one hand and tracing the edge of the scar tenderly. "These are Sammy's, but you said it yourself: You're not Sammy."

 

Sam shuddered, feeling oddly vulnerable beneath Dean's touch. He'd had his fair share of partners but few of them had ever gone near the mark - the scars. "No," he agreed softly, hesitantly. "I'm not. But they're mine, too. Is that... okay?"

 

"Yes," Dean said, leaning up and kissing Sam softly. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam," he promised, moving to lay next to Sam, tucking himself under Sam's arm and against the taller man's side. He wrapped his arms around Sam comfortingly, enjoying the contact.

 

Sam sighed contentedly, tightening his hold on Dean and tangling their legs together. This was the dream he'd never permitted himself to have - Dean, back in his arms, wanting him still as he had before everything went wrong. Sam was suddenly bone tired, but that didn't stop him from pressing his face into Dean's hair and breathing him in, reassuring himself for the last time that he was real. This, right here, was perfect. 

 

Dean smiled as Sam pulled him closer. These last two months had been hell without Sam. Nuzzling closer, Dean let out a contended sigh as he felt himself falling asleep. For the first time he could remember, he felt like he'd come home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but it's all smut, I promise.

Things got back to normal over the next month. Sam and Dean grew close again and they all but forgot about the fact that they were brothers. Dean started hanging around Sam's apartment a lot more, and as that month drew to a close, Jess finally snapped. She'd developed a disliking for Dean during his two months away and, according to her, watching them kissing or making moon-eyes at each other all the time was just too much. Besides, she had a boyfriend too, and it was a bit of a mood-killer when she brought him back to find two guys making out on the couch. She was kind about it, but ultimately, the bottom line was still the same - she wanted Sam out. So Sam moved in with Dean.  
  
It was a smooth transition. They'd spent enough time around each other that there was no period of awkwardness while they tried to get used to operating in close proximities. Dean's bedroom became _their_ bedroom and that was maybe the part that excited Sam the most. He had grown up in a nice home with parents that loved him, but late at night when he was lying in _their_ bed with Dean in his arms, he finally felt like he belonged.

 

Dean hadn't been surprised when Jess finally kicked Sam out. She didn't like Dean, never really had, and honestly, Dean-- while he didn't hate her-- didn't particularly care for her, either.

 

Having Sam living with him in his apartment above the garage seemed... well, it seemed destined. Every night, they'd go to bed together, strip down to their boxers, and hold each other close. The past few nights, however, things had seemed to be heating up between them, and after dinner they found themselves on the couch once more, kissing like they had that long-ago day when they'd found out they were related. Dean was laying on his back on the couch, Sam perched above him. Pulling off with a nip to Sam's lower lip, he asked in a low murmur, "This remind you of anything?"

 

Sam shuddered and hid his face in the crook of Dean's neck, pressing a kiss to the skin beneath his lips. "Maybe," he groaned, tension running beneath the amused huff that accompanied it. "Do you think we could avoid a repeat performance?"

 

"How much of it do you want to avoid?" Dean asked coyly, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth, his hands moving slowly down Sam's back to play with the hem of his shirt teasingly. 

 

Sam hummed thoughtfully, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Maybe the part where you see me half-naked and run out of the house?" It was still a sore point for both of them but they poked it occasionally, and it was healing nicely.

 

"I think I can arrange to skip that part," Dean said, reaching up and tugging Sam's shirt over his head. He let his hands move around to Sam's front, run over the younger man's chest, pausing to tease over Sam's nipples as Dean leaned up to kiss Sam again. "I love you," he whispered. He'd never said it before, not out loud. He'd told his father that he'd fallen in love with Sam, but he'd never actually told Sam those three words.

 

The heat that had been building within Sam for much of the last half hour spiked suddenly, making his face flush and his pulse race. He'd known, of course he'd known that Dean loved him, but to actually hear him say the words... The smile on Sam's face was wide enough to hurt and bright enough to blind. "I love you, too," he breathed, and his hands suddenly became hungry, demanding as they slid beneath Dean's shirt to caress his skin. "God, so much, Dean."

 

Dean arched into the touch, gasping slightly. "God, if I'd known you'd react like this, I'dve told you ages ago," he chuckled. "Bed, now," he demanded, sitting up and tugging Sam to his feet.

 

"You're the one who wanted to take it slow," Sam complained petulantly, but he allowed Dean to pull him into the bedroom, shedding their clothes as they went. When they were down to their boxers, Sam pushed Dean onto the bed and then followed him, straddling his hips and kissing along his neck. "No nasty surprises this time," he hissed, determined, as he rocked experimentally. "Jesus, I've wanted this for so long."

 

"Me, too," Dean gasped, rocking up into Sam's hips. "God, Sammy, love you." His hands clenched Sam's shoulders tightly as he leaned up to kiss Sam hard, moving to kiss along Sam's jaw and neck, sucking a mark into it. Finally, finally they were back in bed, about to step beyond the borders they'd been pacing along for so long now. Dean knew that his stubbornness in wanting to take things slow was well-founded; he didn't think he'd have felt like this was so amazing, so  _right_  if he'd let them take their relationship to the physically intimate level right away.

 

Sam understood Dean's reasoning behind waiting, but that didn't mean he couldn't be the most sexually frustrated person on the planet right now. Whining softly as Dean marked him, Sam broke away to kiss and lick his way down the older man's body, sucking on a nipple and grazing his teeth along abs as he went. When he was positioned comfortably between Dean's legs, he pressed his lips to the bulge in his boxers and slid his hands up strong thighs to tease at the waistband. "Can I suck you off?" he all but moaned, mouthing at Dean through the material.

 

"Jesus," Dean hissed, almost unable to think. "God, yes." He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, lifting his hips to shove the garment down his legs, kicking it off. He moaned softly as his cock sprang free, and then sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of Sam's breath against it.

 

Dean was actually bigger than Sam remembered, but he liked a challenge. The weight on his tongue as he sank his mouth down over Dean's cock was fantastic, and he moaned appreciatively around the length. As it turned out he couldn't take it all, so he wrapped his hand around the waist and started to suck, tongue writhing against the underneath as he bobbed his head. Finally, fucking finally, he knew what Dean tasted like - and Sam couldn't get enough.

 

Dean gasped, one hand grasping the sheets above his head, the other tangling in Sam's hair as his hips bucked up into the warm cavern of Sam's mouth. "Oh, God," he groaned, hips thrusting reflexively. "So good," he panted, loosening his grip in Sam's hair to stroke instead.

 

Sam was quick to put a stop to Dean's thrusting, using his free hand to pin his hips to the bed. He pulled off to lick around the head, dipping into the slit to catch the precome beading there, and then took Dean back into his mouth. As Sam swallowed around him, he let his other hand release Dean's cock to drop lower, so that his fingers could tease experimentally at Dean's entrance.

 

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Dean groaned, futilely trying to roll his hips to get closer. "Christ, Sam, lube, nightstand drawer," he said, almost begging. It had been so long since he'd been fucked, done anything beyond touching himself, that he found himself thinking of every disgusting thing possible to stave off his too-soon orgasm.

 

Sam wasn't quite expecting this reaction but he wasn't about to complain; he pulled his mouth off Dean's cock and crawled up his body to claim his lips in a rough kiss, even as he yanked the nightstand drawer open and groped around inside for the lube. Finding what he was looking for, he squeezed some out onto his fingers and dropped them back between Dean's thighs to rub in little circles around his hole. "You sure this is okay?" Sam asked, even as he started to press a finger inside; the look on Dean's face was all the answer he needed. 

 

"God, yes, you stop now and I'll kill you," Dean said, yanking Sam in for a kiss. Rolling his hips up, he growled angrily when his cock brushed against the fabric of Sam's boxers. "Boxers. Lose them, now," he ordered.

 

“Yeah, okay, hang on." Sam managed to get his boxers off without taking his finger out of Dean for too long. When he returned, it was with two fingers, and he crooked them as he stretched Dean open, searching for that one spot... he smiled when Dean jerked beneath him. "That feel good?"

 

"Yes, feels so good," Dean panted, his head thrown back against the bed, his hands roaming restlessly over Sam's body, unable and unwilling to settle anywhere, not with this much glorious skin available to touch. A flash of possessiveness crashed over Dean, and he leaned up to bite down on the junction of Sam's neck and shoulder, sucking lightly as he growled, "More," against the skin.

 

Sam gasped and shuddered, arching into Dean's touch even as he pressed a third finger into him. "Should've known," he panted, "that you'd be a pushy fucking bottom." He kissed Dean again, fucking him with his fingers and paying special attention to his prostate. "Condoms?" he asked as he trailed his lips down Dean's neck, eager to be buried inside of him.

 

"Mmm," Dean hummed in agreement, arching into Sam's touch. "Same place as the lube," he murmured, tugging affectionately on Sam's earlobe with his teeth.

 

Sam made a strangled sound, hand spasming and dropping the little foil package he'd found in the drawer. "Fuck, Dean," he hissed, grabbing for it again. His ears had always been sensitive, but Dean seemed to know exactly how to get the best responses out of him. Once he'd finally retrieved the condom, he pulled his fingers out of Dean and sat back, ripping open the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the latex onto his hard length. Lube came next, and Sam jacked Dean with a loose fist while he slicked himself up. "Legs around my waist," he ordered, getting himself into position between Dean's thighs and capturing his lips as he began to press forward.

 

Dean complied, a wicked, satisfied smirk on his face as he gazed up at Sam. "God, Sammy, you're so big," he purred, his eyes flashing as he arched his back, making himself relax so Sam could slip inside easier.

 

"You love it," Sam moaned, returning Dean's smirk even as he rocked into him with slow, shallow thrusts. He was panting by the time he was finally all the way in, and his eyes slipped shut while his lips parted in a low whimper. "God, you feel so fucking good," he praised, rolling his hips just a little. 

"Hell yeah I love it," Dean smirked, rolling his hips against Sam's, gasping when Sam started gently thrusting. "God, yes," he moaned, his fingers digging into Sam’s shoulder blades.

Sam kept it up, rocking into Dean nice and slow, just deep enough to graze his prostate. "I love you," he sighed, leaning down to kiss Dean as he circled his hips, eliciting a moan from both of them. 

"Love you, too," Dean breathed, kissing Sam. Nipping on the younger man's lower lip, he added, "This is all nice and sweet, but I know you can go harder." He lightly scraped his nails down Sam's back, growling softly as he bucked his hips upward impatiently.

"Maybe I don't want this to be like every other fuck you've ever had," Sam challenged, even as he drew back and then snapped his hips forward, driving himself into Dean, hard. "Or maybe I just like being a tease."

"My money's on the second," Dean gasped through the wave of pleasure that assailed him as Sam drove forward, nailing his sweet spot. "And it's _you_ , Sam. That automatically makes it different and --oh, god, yes, _there_ \-- ngh, better," he panted, rolling his hips tauntingly.

Encouraged by the sounds coming from Dean, Sam fucked him for all he was worth, hitching his legs higher up on his waist so that he could get that much deeper. He kept the same angle to make sure that he hit Dean's prostate on every thrust, and soon he was sweating with the effort and so fucking close he was barely holding on. It was at that point that Sam got a hand between them to stroke Dean's cock, leaning down to suck a mark into the join of his shoulder.

"Oh, oh, oh, ohgod, _Sam_ ," Dean moaned, twisting and writhing in pleasure beneath Sam, bucking his hips to meet Sam's thrusts. When Sam got a hand around him and his mouth on Dean's shoulder, Dean lost it, shouting Sam's name as he came.

Dean's orgasm triggered Sam's own and his rhythm faltered as his hips stuttered, twitching and bucking as he came, Dean's name on his lips. He fucked Dean through it, and when it was finally over, he collapsed on top of him, heedless of the come spattered between them. "Oh my God," he panted into Dean's neck, heart hammering. "Dean, that was... Oh my God."

"Mind-blowing?" Dean suggested, laughing breathlessly. His fingers idly traced soft patterns on Sam's back as he pressed a kiss to the side of Sam's neck. They lay there for a few moments before Dean poked Sam in the ribs. "This is great and all, cuddling like this, but I'd like it better if we were cleaned up," he said, his usual smart-mouth coming into play. He kissed Sam again, then gently pushed Sam off of him before going into the bathroom, returning with a wet washcloth.

"Let me," Sam offered, taking the washcloth from Dean. Once he'd gotten back into bed, Sam tenderly wiped him clean and then used the cloth on himself before depositing it onto the floor. "Happy now, princess?" he bitched, pulling Dean back into his arms.

"Indeed I am, bitch," Dean smirked, shifting closer to Sam and tucking himself under Sam's arm. "That was the best sex I've ever had," he added.

Sam chuckled, deep and satisfied. "Yeah? It was maybe second-best, for me." He snorted, pressing his lips to Dean's temple. "I love you."

Dean laughed and leaned up to kiss Sam before settling back against his chest. "Liar. But I love you, too," he murmured, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist, pressing himself close. In public, Dean acted like he was the alpha in this relationship, but honestly? He loved being held. It made him feel loved, treasured, _needed_. And those were things he'd never felt before, because he'd never before cared about another person to even think about giving up some of his control to them, to trust them to take care of him. He trusted-- _loved_ \-- Sam implicitly.

He didn’t need anything else.


End file.
